The Game
by ai-08
Summary: Belarus has invited a few nations to her estate and is so glad that they have all decided to come and play with her... RussiaxAmericaxRussia among others
1. Prologue

**The Game  
**Prologue

* * *

**Russia's Manor**  
**Moscow, Russia**  
**December 30th**  
**6:34 AM, Moscow Time**

The first thing America noticed after entering Russia's bedroom were the amount of vodka bottles strewn about the floor. Looking around the rest of the room, he saw that the floor wasn't the only thing in disarray. The heavy curtains, in desperate need of repair, or better yet, replacement, were completely drawn over the windows, blocking out the morning sun. The room was completely dark save for the stray sliver of light that managed to cast a dusty glow across the messy blankets of the king size bed. And through the poor lighting, America could tell by the state of the wallpaper (already aged and easily torn from the wall, now with bits of it stripped from the wall in shreds) and the interesting arrangement of the furniture (a chair was on its side, cracked, the leg hanging limply at an odd angle) that there had been some sort of scuffle. Weather it had been Russia's own doing, or the result of a fight from an unwelcome guest America did not know. But one thing was for sure- whatever had happened the previous evening Russia had not exactly come out on top, if his current state of being- passed out and looking more than a little worse for wear- was any indication.

America shook his head. More often than not this was how he found the older nation, passed out in an alcohol induced slumber.

He crossed the carpeted floor, mindful of the creaking panels, not wanting to wake the other just yet.

When he was certain that he was still asleep, he smiled to himself, rubbed his gloved hands together (He didn't care if he was inside- Russia was fucking _cold_.) and pounced on the bed, successfully landing on top of the sleeping form. "Happy Birthday, Russia!" he sang.

Both of Russia's eyes shot open and a look of complete panic crossed his face before he realized who his attacker was. "Pryvet, America," he sad. "Is this how you plan on waking me from now on?" His tone seemed slightly perturbed- surely his voice was more than a little rough around the edges- but he did not move to push the blond off, nor did he try to sit up. Instead, he drew his hands out from under the covers and rested them on the American's thighs, which felt quite comfortable pressed against either side of his torso.

Russia frowned at the feel of the cool, bulky material beneath his fingers; he could barely feel the muscle of America's legs beneath it. "What on earth are you wearing?" he asked.

America rolled his eyes, even though Russia could not see. "It's called a snow suit, idiot. In case you didn't know it's fuckin' minus 10 degrees outside."

Russia raised a brow. "And you required... this get-up to walk from the driveway to the front door?"

"It's cold!" America said defensively.

"The walk could not have been more than three meters."

"Whatever, stop being an asshole. I came to bring you a present."

At those words Russia seemed to freeze as if remembering something unpleasant. His eyes widened in horror as he gripped at America's legs fiercely- not the reaction the younger nation had been expecting. America frowned. "You ok?"

"My... sister has seen herself home, da? You did not run into her?" Russia asked, the tremor in his voice extremely noticeable.

America's frowned deepened in confusion. Is that why his room looked so horrible? "No, why?" he asked.

Russia seemed to visibly relax, but gave America a look that seemed to say, 'You really are quite stupid, aren't you?'

Of course America didn't catch it and Russia had the distinct feeling that the lack of lighting had nothing to do with it.

"Good," Russia said after a moment. "That's good..."

America sighed, a little put out. Here he was, _ready _to put out, and all Russia could think to say was, "Have you seen my sister?" Well, that just wouldn't do. That just wouldn't do at all.

"Don't you want to know what your present is?" America asked, tugging at Russia's scarf playfully, a little grin working its way onto his lips.

But Russia was not looking at him and was only half-paying attention to what the American was saying, suddenly lost in his own thoughts. "I would really rather not celebrate this day," he murmured.

America was about to snap at Russia, or punch his big stupid nose, or _something _because here he was, having trekked through endless amounts of snow and wind and the horrible cold (for a whopping half a minute, but that was unimportant) to give Russia a totally cool and amazing gift for his birthday (namely himself), and Russia had the nerve to be a party pooper?

It was his birthday, for Pete's sake! His... Oh.

December 30th- Russia's birthday correlated with the founding of the Soviet Union.

Realization hit America like a big, guilt-ridden ton of bricks, and he seemed to shrink inside his snow suit, looking away from the Russian. "Sorry," he muttered. "I er, sorry... Guess I didn't think, er... Sorry," he finished lamely, face burning hot with embarrassment.

Well. Talk about a mood killer. Of course Russia didn't want to celebrate today! Who would? No wonder he had spent the previous night trying to consume twice his land mass in vodka, and add to that the fact that he had evidently gotten a Happy Birthday visit from his psycho sister ...

But that didn't mean that America was going to let Russia waste away in self-pity and boring old angst. America had flown all the way to Moscow to see him for a bit, and dammit, they were going to enjoy themselves!

He took his gloves off and brushed Russia's hair from his face, running a hand down the familiar brow line and jaw. He smiled. "Then how about we just think of it as a late-" He remembered that Russia celebrated Christmas in January, and corrected himself. "Er, _early _Christmas present, ok?" America made a thoughtful face. "Which actually works out nice, seeing as I didn't get you anything for Christmas."

Russia giggled. "I like the way you think, милочка. Though shouldn't you be at home, getting ready for New Years?"

America shrugged and suddenly found himself trapped beneath six feet of heavy, firm, and conveniently mostly naked Russian. He smirked. Russia brought his face to America's neck; the skin there felt like fire and he reveled in its warmth.

"So I take it you like your present?" America asked happily, eyes half closed.

Russia made a contented sound at the back of his throat and darted his tongue out to glide along as much exposed flesh as he could find.

"So how bout you help me out of this stupid thing," America said. "I was gonna do a sexy stripe tease for ya cause I'm not wearing anything under this but the material is very much_not_breathable and I am seriously starting to sweat now. And let me just tell you, this is probably one of he most uncomfortable feelings in the entire world."

Russia had to bite back a laugh. Only America would talk like that during foreplay. But that was probably why he preferred to have the American in his bed- He said what he meant and meant what he said. He didn't have to worry about any hidden agendas, not anymore anyways. America's personality had always made the younger nation easy to understand and even easier to goad into a confrontation, and now... now he found it strangely comforting.

Their friendship (they were friends now, right?) and their -America bucked his hips up, pressing their bodies together as Russia nipped at his collar bone and quickly found the zipper to America's jacket- their... Russia could not find the right words to describe his and America's relationship- didn't dare name it. He didn't want America getting any ideas; didn't want to hurt the young, impressionable nation's feelings. Or perhaps he was just lying to himself. Perhaps it was his own feelings he was-

Russia stripped America of his ridiculous winter gear in record time, pushing his thoughts far from his mind before they could fully take from and add to the already vast collection of specters that haunted him.

True to his word, America was complete naked beneath his outerwear. Russia raked his eyes and his hands over the toned body, marveling at just how _warm _he felt. He trailed his hands down America's sides and the younger nation shuddered at the caress. There had been a time when Russia would have drawn his hands -cold, always cold- back at that reaction, thinking he was getting too close, too personal, but he had long since learned where and how America liked to be touched.

He tucked his hands under the other nation's rear and drew him up. America wrapped his legs around Russia's middle, grabbing his arms and pulling him down, bringing their faces together to kiss for the first time since he'd arrived.

Kissing was, as far as nations were concerned, relatively new for them. Their private meetings had been going on for decades, long before they had the guise of "diplomacy" to hide behind. But while they had grown familiar with each others bodies with rough, quick, needy touches, they had never bothered to take the time to be gentle with each other.

The very first time they had had sex had been during the Second World War. England, America, and he had met in Tehran for a conference and that first night they had simply passed each other in the hall and shared a flickering glance. America had then asked if he'd like to join him for a night cap, and the next thing he knew he found himself with a fist-full of blond hair and red knees as he pounded into the American until they both collapsed from exhaustion.

Russia had thought it to be a one-time deal until he found America and himself meeting, unplanned, after a world conference every so often. Then, much to his surprise, unplanned turned to planned but, well... To anyone else it may have looked like an affair slowly turning into something more, but Russia knew better than that.

He and America did not do love, did not even do romance. They simply fucked. No unnecessary sweet words, touches, or strings attached. Russia knew that America treated his other lovers with more tenderness, more playfulness, but Russia did not mind. That was not what he wanted. At least, that was what he had thought.

Russia remembered the day he had felt a change. It had been sometime in 2002 after a G8 meeting in his capitol. Though their relations at the time had been doing better they were still a little rocky, especially with Russia's reluctance to support the United States in the invasion of Iraq. (Not that their relations with each other as nations had much to do with their sex life, if the Cold War had been any indication.) That night, after meeting upon meeting, Russia had found himself on his back, one hand gripping the metal headboard behind him and the other the sheets at his side as his knees were spread and folded up to his chest. America knelt over him, panting and trembling, rocking and pushing, when suddenly he stopped, balls-deep in his ass, and reached a hand down to stroke Russia's face.

Russia wanted to snap at him to continue, wanted to know why he had stopped when he had been _so fucking close, _when their eyes met and then strangely, for no reason at all, America leaned down to kiss him.

That had been nearly a decade ago but Russia didn't think he'd ever get used to the way America felt and smelled and tasted, or the way America made his heart-

America was the first to break the kiss. "My glasses," he said by way of explanation. He took them off and tossed them to the far corner of the bed. He looked back up at Russia, crooked smile turning to a frown.

"What's eattin' you?" he asked, noticing the far-off look on the Russian's face.

Russia gave him a small smile, trailing little kisses down his neck to his chest. "It's nothing, милочка. Don't worry about it."

* * *

When they finished, both lay on their backs staring at the ceiling. By then, more light had begun to trickle through the crack in the curtains. America frowned, wishing the sun would go back down.

"How long will you be staying?" Russia asked after a few minutes of silence.

America reached for his glasses and stood up, walking towards the bathroom. He didn't turn around to look at Russia. "I actually can't stay much longer," he said. "I've got a plane to catch to Beijing in a few hours, got a meeting with China at 10 tomorrow. I just wanted to stop by and say hi before I left since I probably won't see you for a while."

Russia wanted to grin and silently pat himself on the back for making America fit in enough time for a quick lay even though it had probably inconvenienced him, but after hearing that the blond would be leaving just as quickly as he had come he couldn't bring himself to smile.

"Let me take you to the airport then," Russia offered. "We can have breakfast on the way."

America paused at the door to the bathroom to consider the offer for a moment. "Nah, that's alright," he said. "You go back to sleep. I'll see ya when I see ya."

Of course, Russia thought. That would be overstepping the line, wouldn't it?

Twenty minutes later and it was as if America had never been there. Russia sighed and pulled the covers up over his head, not bothering to clean himself up. He soon fell asleep again, missing the sound of nails scrapping against the glass of his window...

**Belarus's Winter Home  
Just outside Krasnoselskiy, Belarus  
January 25th  
3:37 PM, Eastern European Time**

The taxi pulled up to a house America had never seen before. He was sure he knew where he was… Ukraine, right? Or maybe Kazakhstan… Well, he was somewhere in Russia's neck of the woods, that much he was certain of. Which had really been the only reason he'd accepted the offer, not that he'd tell anyone that. Regardless, perhaps next time he'd actually pay attention to the address he'd been given instead of just hopping on the next flight to go to some little social party. He got out of the taxi, grabbed his stuff and- "Holy sweet _Jesus _it is freaking cold here!" he yelled, clutching at his bomber jacket, not really doing much to fend off the nasty weather. (He would have worn his snow suit but it had, um, gotten dirty somehow and he'd never quite gotten around to having it cleaned...)

"Well _duh _Al, this is Belarus's house and it _is _winter, remember?" a quiet voice asked from beside him.

He turned and saw Canada standing next to him. How long had he been standing there? America didn't recall flying over with his brother…

"Who?" he asked, teeth chattering.

The younger of the two sighed. "Canada," he said.

America waved his hand (bad idea, fastest way to lose body heat) and shook his head. "No, I know _that. _(Gosh who forgets their own brother _hahaha_) I mean, whose house? Who's Belarus?"

Canada gave another long suffered sigh. "Belarus, you know, Russia and Ukraine's little sister."

"You mean the freaky chick with the knife fetish?" he asked.

Canada nodded.

America visibly paled. "So… Remind me again why we're here?"

Canada gave him an annoyed look. "America," he said, beginning to lose his patience, "You insisted we come, remember? You said something about not letting that Commie Bastard become more popular than you. Or something like that."

"B-but _Mattie_," he whined. "Why didn't you tell me we were going to his _sister's _house! Remember when she broke Lithuania's fingers?"

Canada began to rub at his temples, mentally counting to ten in French. "America… You should have paid more attention when you RSVP'd her invitation. It would be rude to leave now."

America stared up at the large mansion before him, unabashed horror clearly written on his face. There was no way in _hell _he was going in there. To America it looked like something out of a horror novel- nothing but darkened windows and plenty of towers for ghosts to haunt, not to mention a barren garden full of leafless trees that looked like they'd reach out to snatch you if you even thought about stepping of the designated walkway. Not to mention all the nasty, nasty snow.

In actuality it was a well-kept estate built in the Neo-Classical style in the early 1890s, but there was no point in telling that to the overly imaginative American. Who had already started to inch back towards the road and pulled his cell phone out to call for another cab.

Canada snatched his brother by the collar of his jacket and drug him back. "We are not leaving, that would be rude!"

America flailed and tried to get out of Canada's grasp. "You just wanna stay to see if Ukraine will be here!" he complained. Canada blushed hotly and opened his mouth to retort, but America kept talking. "And that's totally fine with me! I'm just going to go back home, got a recession to deal with you know, don't really have time to make social visits at the moment but hey, send me a postcard and-"

"Are you… _afraid_ of Belarus?" Canada asked incredulously. It wasn't as if Canada wasn't, but since they (and he assumed other nations as well, judging by the amount and variety of cars parked in the long driveway) had been invited for, as the invitation had stated, "a friendly get together" he figured they had nothing to worry about. Oh alright, and the added possible bonus of getting to see Ukraine didn't hurt.

"Of course I'm not afraid of her!" America huffed. "I just don't want to be maimed," he muttered under his breath.

Canada shook his head. "She's not going to hurt you," he said. "She probably just wants to strengthen ties with other nations over some tea."

"Yeah, or maybe she just wants to get us all in one place so she can kill us all."

"Ugh!" Canada grabbed the handle of his luggage and began the long trek up the frozen driveway. "Come on Kumachi," he called to his polar bear who had taken up residence behind America. "Don't want to go in there," Kumajirou stated.

"See?" America exclaimed. "Even the bear doesn't want to!"

Canada rolled his eyes and kept walking. "Alright, have it your way. But the sun is going to be setting soon. Have fun sitting outside. In the dark. In the cold. In a strange place. And I heard there's a graveyard next door…"

That was all Canada needed to say for America to pick up his duffel bag in one hand and Kumajirou in the other and quickly catch up to him.

"You two are such chickens," Canada said with a laugh.

"You won't be saying that when I have to save your ass from her evil clutches!" America warned.

Canada shook his head and kept walking. America kept a few paces behind, not because he was scared or anything, he was just being cautious. Yeah.

"Your owner is crazy," America whispered, holding Kumajirou close. The little polar bear made a great heater.

Kumajirou just looked up at him with his tiny black eyes, wondering who the strange man carrying him was talking about, and why he was being taken into such a frightening place.

* * *

England was sick and tired of waiting in Belarus'ss drafty sitting room. And would it have killed the girl to serve them some tea? Honestly, he hadn't been treated this poorly since his first (and last) visit to France's summer home.

"Angleterre, since our dear hostess seems to be missing," the Frenchman placed a hand on the Brit's upper thigh, "why don't you and I-"

England gripped France's hand, making sure to dig his nails into the soft flesh. "Finish that sentence and see what happens, frog."

France gave a fake sob and drew his poor, abused hand to his chest. "I was merely going to ask if you wanted to have a look around the grounds. You don't have to act like such a brute!"

"Well maybe if you'd just learn to keep your filthy wine-guzzling hands to yourself I wouldn't have to-"

"Can you two like, shut up?" Poland asked, lifting his head from Lithuania's lap. "I'm like, trying to get some beauty sleep over here!"

Just then the front door opened and in walked America and Canada.

Canada gave a curious look around and America came up behind him, holding onto his arm, just in case he needed protection. It wasn't as if he was holding onto his little brother because_he_needed the comfort.

England, having heard the door, stepped out into the hallway to see who it was.

"I see you got an invitation as well, America?" he asked.

America nodded, peering into the sitting room. "How many nations are here?" he asked curiously, catching sight of France and a few others. He looked around the room and saw that Poland, Lithuania, and Latvia were sharing a couch, China sat in an armchair near the bookcase, North and South Italy shared a loveseat with Germany standing behind it dutifully, Japan sat on the other side of France, and Austria sat at the piano, Hungary and Prussia standing with him.

"Quite a few of us," England replied.

"Where's Belarus?" Canada asked.

"What an excellent question, _mon_ _cher,"_ France said. "Why don't you-"

"I am so pleased that you have all finally arrived," a quiet voice came from behind America and Canada, causing them to jump and turn around.

It was Belarus.

She gave them both an eerie smile. They both backed up to stand behind England.

"It is good to see that you all had a safe trip over," she said. "It would have been a pity if you had all died before I got the chance to kill you."

America poked Canada in the side. "See Mattie? I told yo- Wait _what_?"

* * *

Translations:

Pryvet- hello

милочка- Darling

**A/N**: So I learned a new grammar rule today with the whole "apostrophe plus s" deal. See, I went to a Catholic school. And when we were learning grammar I was taught with religious examples. For example, I was taught to write Jesus' and Moses' not Jesus's and Moses's. So all this time I've been writing Belarus' and Francis' thinking that was correct when I should have been writing Belarus's and Francis's. Why have I not picked up on that till now? -Laughs- Anyways, here's the new and improved (?) prologue with 50 percent more words , background, and sexy times~

**Other: **In a June 2002 Chicago Council on Foreign Relations study, 81% said the US "has a vital interest" in Russia. In May 2000, 86% told Gallup that "what happens in Russia" is vitally important. In July 1999, 69% rated relations with Russia as "extremely" important to the US national interest. Go on, everybody say it with me: AWW! :D


	2. One

**The Game  
**Chapter One

* * *

**Belarus's Winter Home**  
**Just outside Krasnoselskiy, Belarus**  
**January 25th**  
**4:05 PM, Eastern European Time**

No one dared utter a word after Belarus's strange announcement. Everyone, even America and Prussia, was left speechless. Slowly, as if even moving seemed like a bad idea, they exchanged uneasy glances with each other.

England was the first to recover.

"Belarus," he said in a soothing voice, the sort of voice one might use when trying to calm a feral animal. "Surely you must be joking. If… If you have any grievances, I'm sure if we all just worked together… There is no need for such-"

"Did I stutter?" she seethed. "Oh but-" She gave a reserved, lifeless chuckle. "Oh, I misspoke! I do apologize."

A few of the other nations began to chuckle nervously.

"I meant to say that you'll be killing each _other_," she clarified. "Normally I would do it myself, but my dear brother will be visiting soon." The very thought caused an uncharacteristic smile to cross her face. "So I do not have the time."

She stepped into the sitting room and closed the door behind her, humming an old Belarusian wedding song under her breath. By then, everyone had risen from their seats, even little Latvia, who stood cowering behind his older brother.

"I told you we shouldn't have come, Mattie!" America wailed. "This is so uncool, now I'm gonna have to save everyone, and I'm hungry!"

"America, now isn't the time to be thinking with your stomach," England said, turning to his former colony.

Austria stepped forward. "Stop this foolishness at once, Belarus," he demanded. "This little game of yours will not get you anywhere. What are you hoping to accomplish, holding us here like this?"

Belarus narrowed her eyes. "I've already told you, Austrian dog," she said.

"You can't kill a nation," Germany said. "Not like this, at any rate."

Belarus ran a finger down the blade of her knife. (When had she pulled it out?) She licked the blood that pooled at the dainty tip. "Have you ever tried?" she asked with child-like curiosity.

England reached for his phone. "Unless you want to go to war with everyone present in this room, I suggest you let us go," he said.

"I am inclined to agree with _Angleterre_," France said. "You don't seem to understand, _ma_ _petite_ Belarus. We are quite the force to be reckoned with."

"No _you _don't seem to understand!" she hissed. "No one is leaving this room until I say so. You are in _my _house and you will be playing by _my _rules. If you refuse, well…" She began to promenade about the room, a slight bounce to her step. She walked to Poland and stuck a finger to his chest. "Then I cannot guarantee the safety of _your_ people…" She walked to Germany. "Or _your_ people…" She stopped at Canada. "Or _yours_."

"And just what are you going to do?" America laughed. "Throw knives from your little haunted house?"

"No," she stated simply. "I will use big brother's… What is the term in English?" She tapped a delicate finger against her chin. "Ah, yes. Weapons of mass destruction, was it?"

"Russia wouldn't let you do something like that!" America snarled and raised a hand, possibly to strike her. England held him back. "He wouldn't," he repeated. "You're a fucking liar!"

Belarus ignored him and glanced around the room.

"Now do you all understand?" she asked pleasantly, as if she had just explained the rules to a simple card game.

France frowned. "It would appear that Russia is behind this as well," he muttered. "There's no helping it," he said. "She's leaving us with no choice but to-"

"I'm telling you, she's lying!" America shouted, suddenly, desperately realizing how serious the situation was.

"How can you be so sure?" Canada asked quietly.

America bit his lip, frustrated. There was no way he could prove Russia's innocence without giving away the fact that they had been sleeping together since before the end of the Cold War. And even if he _did_ tell them all there was no guarantee that they would believe him. In fact... They would probably suspect him as well. Everyone knew how manipulative Russia could be...

He sighed. "I just… I just am, ok?"

* * *

**4:10 PM, Eastern European Time**

Russia frowned. Why was America not answering any of his calls? He did not take kindly to being ignored and the younger nation knew this _very_ well. And it did not help that he was already in an exceptionally foul mood, as Belarus had been calling him all afternoon. Why must he try him like this?

After the seventh unanswered call he decided to try America's little brother. They were not too terribly close, but Canada was much more polite than his brasher sibling. Surely he would answer his phone.

Yet Canada did _not_ answer and that was when he began to feel the initial unpleasant sensation of worry grip at stomach.

Had he been too late?

He had finally gotten the chance to check his voicemail and received a message from an anxious Ukraine saying that their younger sibling would soon be holding an informal get together for a few nations. She had casually mentioned that America would be there as well, and urged him to please get a hold of America, as she had already tried to call and text her dearest Canada and had not been able to reach him. Of course Ukraine was sure that nothing bad would happen, but she just wanted him to double check, as she was sure that Belarus had recently discovered that Russia had been having 'relations' with a certain North American nation and, as Ukraine put it, "You know how excitable little Belarus is when it comes to her darling brother."

And by excitable Russia was certain she meant homicidal.

He frowned and put his phone down. What was he to do? It wasn't as if he cared if Belarus had a little fun with a few of the nations, but it would not do to have an emotionally scarred American for a bed partner. Not to mention, how messy, grueling, and costly a cover up would be.

But… But Natalia was just so _frightening_! He felt tears creep to the corner of his eyes at the thought of confronting her.

Perhaps he could… ask Ukraine… or his dear Lithuania…?

He sighed.

No, that wouldn't work. He knew if he wanted Belarus to do anything, he was going to have to do it himself.

* * *

**4:12 PM, Eastern European Time**

Canada sighed. "Al, as much as I'd like to believe you… How else can you explain Belarus's access to such things? They must have formed a secret alliance."

"Then explain why China is here, huh?" America nearly shouted, pointing at the nation farthest from them all who had, up to that point, remained silent.

China looked mildly surprised to have been put on center stage.

"I am here for the same reasons as everyone else, aru," he said, clutching his panda bear to his chest. "I was given an invitation."

"See?" America said. "If Russia was planning something, he wouldn't be attacking China. They're practically allies!"

"As much as I hate to like, admit it," Poland piped up, "I think America is like, totally right about Russia. China is like, his BFF hardcore."

China gave the blonde an annoyed look. "I wouldn't call us _that _aru," he said. "We are merely-"

"Well my awesomeness doesn't trust _any_ of them," Prussia threw in his two-cents. "For all we know, China might be here to give us a false sense of security."

Germany nodded. "That is a definite possibility."

"I keep telling you guys, Russia is _not _in cahoots with his psycho sister!" America yelled.

"Why are you so defensive of him?" England asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"None of your damn business, old man! I just know he's innocent!"

South Italy was getting pissed. "Can we _please _just get back to the fucking point?" he shouted, face red. "Let's just kick her ass and get the fuck out of here. I'm hungry and tired and stupid Spain owes me a meal!"

"Ve~ That's not nice, Romano," Italy said. "Maybe if we just give her some pasta-"

"Fucking pasta isn't going to fix th-"

"Are you hiding something, America?"

"No, God! Why are you so-"

"Everyone, be quiet! We need to-"

"Don't touch me, you frog! Now is not the time for-"

Belarus stepped back and let the room fall into disarray, a satisfied look on her normally expressionless face. Weren't they all allies? Weren't most of them involved in that little NATO group? Or at least on good terms with each other? My, how easily they resorted to fighting at the drop of a hat. At this rate, she might not even have to use the fun little games she had prepared for them all; surely they would kill each other if she allowed this to continue! Oh, but where would the fun for her be if she just let them argue and tear each other apart, limb for limb?

No, she could not allow that. It would be so much more fun to watch them all fall, one by one, as she saw fit.

Of course, it didn't hurt that they were already so willing to turn against each other.

She took a deep breath and spoke above their shouting. "Silence," she said.

Instantly the room fell into a nervous hush, as if they had finally remembered just why they were all there.

"England, France, if you would be so kind as to follow me?" she asked sweetly.

England, who had America in a head lock, instantly released him and looked up at her incredulously. "I am not going anywhere with _that_," he said.

"For once we agree on something," France said haughtily. "I refuse to go anywhere with-"

"Then I suppose you two wouldn't mind if I took out, oh… most of the Yukon Territory?" she asked.

Canada stiffened. America placed a hand on his arm. "Don't worry," he whispered. I won't let anything happen to you, Mattie." He frowned down at his cell phone. It would be a _lot_ more reassuring if his cell phone had coverage out here. How else was he supposed to get a hold of Russia?

France and England shared a glance. Wasn't that… Whose territory was that?

Their eyes widened, both remembering at the same time. Canada!

"Fine," they said in unison, stepping forward.

America moved to stop England.

"I'll be fine, lad," he said quietly, reassuringly.

"England, I keep telling you, you don't have to listen to her. Russia wouldn't-"

England shrugged America's arm off violently. "I don't know why you're suddenly so _trusting _of that… that _pig, _but I am not just going to sit here and let her threaten us!"

"Well you think giving into her demands is helping, huh? _Do_ ya?" he shouted, but was only met with the shutting, and locking, of the solid mahogany door before him.

America growled and punched the wall. "What the _fuck_," he cursed.

Canada placed a comforting hand at the small of his back and rubbed it in a soothing, circular pattern. "It'll be ok, Al," he said. Kumajirou huddled closer to Canada's chest, trying to climb down his hoodie. "Not safe here," the bear muttered. Canada frowned and softly repeated, mostly for his own sake, "It'll be ok…"

"I say we bust outta here!" Prussia suddenly shouted. "Let those two fend for themselves; I'm getting out of here while that psycho is distracted. I've already got one crazy bitch to deal with, the awesome me doesn't need another."

Hungary punched him. "We're not going anywhere!" she said, then looked to Austria. "We're going to help France and England, right?" she asked him.

Austria had a grim expression on his face. He looked to Germany.

Germany shook his head no.

Austria sighed. "For once, I think Prussia is right," he said.

"Belarus's estate is most likely riddled with bugs and traps," Japan said softly, speaking up for the first time. "Perhaps it would be best for us to wait and weigh our options."

"_Fuck_ waiting! I agree with the potato bastard's brother!" South Italy said. "I'm getting out of here!"

America turned to face them all, a rare, serious glint in his eyes.

"_No,_" he said. "Either everyone leaves, or no one leaves."

* * *

**4:37 PM, Eastern European Time**

Belarus led France and England down a long, dimly lit hall. They made so many turns that the two of them began to lose their sense of direction.

Finally, after what felt like hours, they came to a door.

Belarus pulled a large ring full of keys from the front pocket of her apron and unlocked it.

It was a stairwell.

They made their descent down the narrow, creaking steps at a slow pace. The stairwell was poorly lit and even more poorly made, and the steps were uneven. England, who stood behind the two, tripped and fell into France, who quickly turned to grab him round the waist and steady him. "Careful, _rosbif_," he whispered.

"Get your filthy hands off of me," England snarled in response.

France opened his mouth to retort, but found that they had reached their destination; a small white room with a single flickering light bulb hanging from the ceiling.

Belarus ushered them in and they silently complied. Without a word of explanation she shut the door behind them and locked it.

England gave a frustrated shout and pounded at the door until his fists began to bruise.

"Save your strength," France advised. "You might need it later."

"Oh, and what do you suggest we do?" England sneered.

France walked to the middle of the room, where an envelope was sitting on the floor atop two small boxes. He picked the envelope up and found that it was addressed to the both of them.

"Read these," he said simply.

* * *

**6: 23 PM, Eastern European Time**

The sun had long since set and now, somehow, Russia found himself outside Belarus's estate.

Just being their made his skin crawl, and the effect was even worse with the land illuminated by nothing but the moon. But he knew he could not leave now, not once he'd seen all the cars parked in front of her home.

Belarus never had visitors unless it was a matter of business, and Russia knew for a fact that- he counted all the cars he saw- he'd never seen that many cars on her property before.

He put his Lamborghini Reventón back in drive and continued down the road until he came to a forest a few meters down. There was no way he was going to park where she could see him- He was going to try do this without having to deal with her any more than necessary.

Russia heard a light _tap _on his window and gave a startled gasp. He turned to his left and saw that it had just been the branch of a tree. He gave a nervous giggle and reached for his cell phone.

"_Pryvet_, Katyusha," he said, feeling a little awkward. Russia always found it a little difficult to talk to his older sister, considering their strained relationship.

She spoke for a moment.

"I am well," he said. "I was wondering, are you with… Natasha?"

Ukraine began to talk again and Russia nodded a little to himself. "I see," he said. "I will see you shortly, then. Goodbye."

At least he would not have to deal with her alone. Ukraine must have had the same idea; while she trusted her little sister, with little Canada being there as well… It was much better to be safe than sorry.

He closed his phone and placed it into the side pocket of his heavy coat. Leaning forward a bit, he felt under his seat for his faucet pipe. Not that he would ever use it on Belarus but…

Like he said, better to be safe than sorry…

* * *

**6:30 PM, Eastern European Time**

After what felt like hours upon hours, Belarus had taken, in groups of twos and threes, every nation out of the room. They had never gotten the chance to come up with a plan; every time they had started to agree on something, Belarus would come back and retrieve a few of them, and if they resisted she threatened to bomb either them, or someone they held dear.

No one was completely sure if her threats held any water. America kept trying to assure everyone that they were as serious as she was sane, but no one was willing to risk it. After all, there was always that chance… And honestly, who trusted her? And for that matter, who trusted _Russia_?

No one. No one save America. But no one would believe him, and he still couldn't get in touch with the other nation.

But surely Russia had grown suspicious. By now, he must have tried to call America at least a few dozen times… He would grow suspicious and start to search for him, and when he realized that a few key nations were missing he would know something was going on.

And hadn't Belarus said that she was expecting Russia anyways?

When Russia got there, America would be sure to-

"Sorry to keep you waiting," a voice called from the doorway.

It was Belarus, and judging by the frost in her voice, she didn't sound the least bit sorry.

"You won't get away with this, you know," America warned.

"You have no choice but to go along with whatever I say," Belarus said with a shrug.

America stood, towering over her. "The United States of America," he said with a low growl, "does _not_ make concessions to terrorists."

Belarus regarded him with an even gaze. "Funny," she said. "I could have sworn I was the one with the upper hand here. Sit down, America, I have something to show you."

He refused to sit. Belarus shrugged again; it didn't much matter to her if he sat or not.

She walked across the room and grabbed the remote control sitting on the wooden coffee table and turned the television on. A windowless room with China and Japan, both blindfolded and bound to the chairs they were sitting in, appeared on the screen.

Completely shocked, America could do nothing but stare. "Let them go," he said firmly.

"Choose," she replied.

"Excuse me?" he asked.

"Choose," she said again. "I'll let you save one of them." She giggled. "Just think, if you kill China, you won't have to pay off your debt!"

"I refuse to do this," he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

She gave a soft 'hmm' and began to circle him, sizing him up like a wolf would a small creature, a rabbit or a mouse for example. "I thought you might say that. That's why I'm giving you twenty-four hours to make up your mind. If, by the end of the allotted time you still haven't picked one… Then I will."

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, unable to move his eyes from the screen.

Belarus turned to look at herself in the mirror that hung above the fireplace and began to adjust her bow and fix a few misplaced strands of hair. "For brother. You all make me very angry," she said simply. "You've all hurt him in the past and-" She gazed at him coldly from the mirror, "You've all _taken_ his interest away from me."

She pulled a small comb from her pocket and began to run it through her soft hair. "Now my dear Vanya will have no choice but to pay attention to me once I rid the world of all distraction."

* * *

Translations:

Pryvet- Hello

**A/N:** Oh snap, Belarus. WTF is wrong with you? :D Ok, I can't seem to work on anything else. I have been seriously bit by this story's plot bunny. And it hurt so good. XO And about Russia's car... I blame Artificial Starlight and her awesome fic 'Giving In'- I can't see Russia without thinking of cool cars and stuff now. *_*


	3. Two

**The Game  
**Two

* * *

**5:24 PM, Eastern European Time**

Germany would have taken the blindfold off, but he did not need to see to know just what sort of room he had been placed in- he could smell it in the air. Taste it on his tongue. Feel it with the tips of his fingers, the dry grime(_It is just dust, only dust_, he used to tell himself-) getting caught beneath his short nails. The recognition made him sick.

He did not want to see.

"_Form separate lines, please! You will now be taking showers. Remove all clothing. You will be provided with clean garments after-"_

"Ve~ Germany?"

His head snapped to the side and instantly he removed his blindfold to look at North Italy, who had placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

One look at Germany confirmed the smaller nation's fears. He knew where they were and _God, _he hadn't seen a look quiet that heartbreaking on his darling Germany's face in decades- _decades!- _not since…

"What the fuck," South Italy grumbled, pulling the two from their troubled thoughts. "Where are we?"

Germany cleared his throat. "It would appear that Belarus has locked us in some sort of room," he said, trying his hardest to keep an even voice and a level head. But god was it difficult when the four walls he was surrounded by were a constant, looming reminder of the sins of his people… of himself.

"_We must cut them out, Germany, don't you see? We are a chosen race, and they are a cancer_."

He needed to sit down. He needed- Fresh air, he-

"Hey, I'm talking to you, you potato freak! Answer my question!" South Italy stormed up to him and clutched at the front of his shirt, wrinkling the pristine fabric. He yanked at his tie and Germany's head was jerked forward a bit. That was when he saw it.

South Italy had been marked with the Star of David.

Suddenly Germany was shouting, shaking, tugging at the lapels of South Italy's suit, begging him to take it off. Romano, surprised and disgusted, slugged him. Germany fell backwards, hitting the wall behind him with a dull _thump._

North Italy rushed forward to steady him before he fell and clutched the taller man to his chest. Germany could do nothing but stare, unblinking, at the demons of his past. He gave ragged, shallow gasps as North Italy attempted to sooth him, running his small hands up and down the taller nations back.

"_But must we… kill them?"_

"Shh," North Italy whispered. "Shh, Germany, it's alright. You know this isn't real. It's just a silly game. He's gone. Remember? He's gone forever. He can't hurt you anymore. He can't make you do those awful things ever again."

"_Yes, Mein Fuhrer_."

South Italy rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Let go of him, Feliciano! He's acting like a fool."

North Italy shot his brother a mild glare and did not let go of Germany. "Be nice, Lovino," he said, voice uncharacteristically stern. "Don't you recognize this place? We're-"

South Italy crossed his arms, losing patience. "Yeah, I'm not _blind. _We're in a fucking gas chamber. But that still doesn't answer my question. _Where _are we? Are we still in that bitch's house?"

Germany visibly shuddered when South Italy said that and seemed to draw into himself.

South Italy narrowed his eyes. "Oh for the love of- Snap out of it, you bastard!"

He smacked Germany.

North Italy gasped and tears welled up in his eyes. He drew Germany even closer, but Germany pulled back, a stunned expression on his face. He blinked, and looked up at the other Italian with clear, focused eyes.

"There's nothing there," he said quietly, looking at the front of South Italy's jacket. He could have sworn he'd seen… But of course not… Germany almost laughed.

But of course.

Italy was Catholic, after all.

He stood and brushed his suit off. (_It's dust. Just dust, just dust_…)He cleared his throat and quietly gave South Italy his thanks for bringing him back to his senses and gave the room they were in a proper look around.

Sure enough, South Italy was right.

They were in a tiny gas chamber, the windowless room no larger than eight by eight feet, with three unassuming shower heads positioned on the ceiling.

He gave a shaky breath and willed his head to stop pounding and the flush on his face to go away. How embarrassing. To have fallen to pieces so easily, so quickly, and after so long… He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to collect himself.

North Italy pressed an envelope into his hand saying something about having found it on the floor, but Germany did not look.

He did not want to see.

* * *

**7:05 PM, Eastern European Time**

Belarus had left America to his own devices what felt like years ago and he was starting to go stir-crazy from all the waiting and the secrecy. He did not take well to either and was prone to rash behavior and paranoia when put in such situations, something that did not bode well for anyone.

And dammit, Belarus had refused to answer any of his questions. She wouldn't tell him where the others were, if they were safe, or what she had done to them! How the hell was he supposed to be the hero if he couldn't do anything?

He began to pace, looking for a way out, looking for a clue, looking for _something._

He'd already tried the door. He'd punched and kicked and rammed into it until he heard something in his side crack but for some reason it still wouldn't budge. He'd tried the window's as well. They wouldn't open either, and he was afraid breaking them would set off the alarm. He'd found a telephone and a computer, but he couldn't figure out how to dial out and he was too nervous to use the computer. He didn't want Belarus tracking him.

And so he was cornered. No options, no answers…

His stomach twisted into knots.

God, where was England? Where was _Mattie_?

He looked back to the television, and it was as if a film had been placed on loop to torture him. China and Japan did nothing. They didn't speak, they didn't try to struggle… They didn't even appear to be breathing.

America shook his head. He was _not _going to entertain _that _train of thought.

He'd figure something out. He always did. That was why he was America. He was the hero! And dammit, even if things looked bad now, they'd get through this. He'd get them out of this mess!

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It would be a lot easier if England was th-

The phone rang, jolting America from his thoughts like a gust of cold air. He nearly shouted (because America didn't _scream_. He wasn't a _girl._) and stared at the phone. It was very ornate, with a gold and ivory handle, and hung on the wall next to the desk at the other end of the room.

America didn't want to answer it. There was no way he was going to talk to anyone who had anything to do with Belarus. Fucking freaky psycho.

But then a thought hit him. What if it was someone who could help him? What if it was his president, or Ukraine, or, best of all, Russia? He shot up from his seat faster than he thought he'd ever moved, and quietly, gently, picked the phone up off of the receiver, just in case Belarus had already answer the phone call elsewhere.

"Good evening, Alfred," a cold, feminine voice greeted him.

America gasped and mentally kicked himself for being so obvious.

"You don't have the right to call me that," he snarled.

"Why not?" she asked. "You're hardly a nation."

"Oh that's rich, _Natalia, _coming from the little girl who has to use scare tactics to get her big brother's attention."

America wondered what Belarus would have to say to that. He hoped he could rile her up enough to get her to come back so he could knock some sense into her. Or kill her. Yeah, killing Belarus was starting to look like a definite option.

"Do you remember the war?" she asked.

That caught him off guard. "Uh, what?" he asked.

"The war. World War II. Do you remember it?"

America frowned. Of course he remembered it. Not that he'd wanted to.

"_I_ remember it," she said. "And do you want to know what stands out the most in my mind?"

"Yeah, I'd love to," America said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "In fact, let's do lunch, as soon as you get-"

She cut him off. "I remember," her voice was loud, shaking with poorly concealed rage. "I remember November 28th of 1943. Don't you?"

America's heart stopped. She knew, oh god, she _knew, _and that was why-

"Look, Belarus, I know you've got a beef with me but listen, you don't have-"

"But I never thought… Of course I knew how you felt. It was so _obvious_ you were infatuated with him," she snarled bitterly. "You were always _throwing_ yourself at him, always trying to win his favor, always trying to get him to see your side of things."

There was silence. America was certain he'd forgotten how to breathe.

"How did it feel?" she whispered. "When he finally gave you what you wanted. Did it hurt? Did he make you _beg_?"

"Shut the fuck _up _Belarus!" he yelled. "You don't know what you're fucking talking about. If it's me you've got a problem with, fine. But this isn't going to solve anything. Do you think mine, or England's, or China's countries will stand for this? By now our leaders must be growing suspicious that we haven't contacted them. Just… let everyone else go and we'll talk, ok? We'll talk. No one has to get hurt."

"I don't want to talk," she said in reply. "Tick tock, little Alfred. You're down to twenty-two hours and thirty-four minutes."

"Russia will stop you, you know," America said with such faith and conviction that Belarus could think of nothing to say for a moment. Unfortunately, she recovered all too quickly.

"Do you really think that my dear brother will be able to restrain himself when I offer him something he's always wanted, the world on a silver platter? Have you honestly deluded yourself into thinking that he _cares _about you, that he'd _stop _me just because you asked?"

"I-"

The line went dead and America slowly placed the receiver back in the hook, idly wondering if one could, in fact, kill a nation.

* * *

**4:45 PM, Eastern European Time**

England opened the envelope and pulled out a single, folded sheet of paper. It read, typed:

"_Let's play a game, let's have some fun_

_In one box a bullet, the other a gun._

_24 hours, plenty time to choose_

_Who shall win and who shall lose?"_

He frowned. "What is this nonsense," he muttered under his breath.

"What does it say, _mon_ _cher_ _Angleterre?"_ France asked, attempting to peer over the top of the note.

England brought it to his chest, glaring at the older nation. "Why should I tell you, _France_," he spit his name out like it was poison. "If you think I'm going to help you out you've got another thing come. You can rot down here for all I care."

France rubbed at his temple. "England," he said, voice completely serious. "Now is not the time to be acting so childishly. We've got to-"

"Oh, would you just stop _talking," _England growled, pushing France up against the wall.

France grinned. "Ah, _rosbif,_ I was unaware that you still had it in you," he smirked, attempting to cop a feel.

"Play along," England mouthed. "It's not as if I _want _to be touching you. I think we're being watched. Fight with me."

France grinned. "I've got a better idea," he growled and squeezed his ass. England punched him in the gut causing France to double over. England pulled him back up with a fist full of hair. "When we get out of here," he seethed. "I will kill you for that."

France grabbed him by his wrists. England frowned and tugged harder at his hair, but France would not release him. Instead, he squeezed his wrists until England feared they'd snap, causing him to relinquish his hold on the Frenchman's hair.

In an instant, France had him spun around, pinned against the wall. He pressed himself firmly against the smaller nation's backside and blew lightly on his ear. England scowled and tried to resist, but France's grip held firm.

"What did it say?" he asked, biting at his neck.

England shook as he reiterated the little poem, but whether it was from rage or something else, neither of them were quite sure.

"Seems like she wants us to kill each oth- ah!- Forget it, I really am going to kill you," England ground out.

"Hmm," was all France said, turning England around to face him. He forced both of England's arms above his head and pressed his knee between the Briton's legs and attempted to kiss him. England forcefully turned his head to the side. "God dammit, France. Would you concintrate for one bloody moment?"

France just 'hmm'ed again and lazily trailed kisses down his neck. "This helps me think," he murmured.

"I think you're _thinking _with the wrong head," England replied with a sneer, promptly kneeing the other nation between the legs.

* * *

**6:37 PM, Eastern European Time**

Canada couldn't believe his luck. For once in his life, he was actually _glad _that he was practically invisible, as he'd been able to sneak out behind Belarus as she'd left with Poland, Lithuania, and Latvia without anyone noticing.

Unfortunately… He was now completely lost in a dark enormous house, with no idea of where he was, let alone any idea of what to do. He frowned. Thinking on his feet was not something Canada was particularly good at, nor was making up grand, heroic escape plans; that was his brother's forte. But there was no way he could go back to the sitting room now. He'd already tried and it had been locked. And he didn't want to risk being caught; he had a sinking feeling that he was their last hope.

Canada glanced around nervously. He wanted to know where everyone was and what Belarus had planned. And for that matter, _why _she had planned this. What was she hoping to accomplish? There was no way in hell she'd be able to pull it off. Even if she –Canada shuddered- even if she _tortured _them or something, it wasn't as if she could kill them. Not to mention, it wouldn't take long for everyone's respective governments to figure out what had happened, and surely then all hell would break loose.

There was no way Belarus could win.

So _what_ was she after?

Canada hugged Kumajirou close to his chest and sighed. Oh how he wished they'd never come. It would have been much easier to break everyone out from the outside.

…The outside…

Canada looked down at Kumajirou, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Hey, Kumasuki," he whispered.

The little white bear looked up at him. "Who?"

"Canada," he said quickly. "Do you think you could get out of here without being noticed?" he asked. The bear quickly nodded; going _anywhere_ would be better than staying in the creepy place this stranger had taken him to.

Canada smiled. "Great!" He quickly pulled a pad and a pen from his coat pocket and began to scribble a short message. He folded it twice and placed it into Kumajirou's waiting mouth. "I've written the address inside," he said. "Be careful, eh!"

He gave the bear an affectionate pat on the head and sent him off. Canada really hoped that would work…

Suddenly a hand came out of nowhere and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him into an empty room.

* * *

**7:31 PM, Eastern European Time**

Russia found it easy enough to crack open the window to one of the first story rooms of Belarus's home. He only hoped that he would be able to remain hidden from her long enough to get America and then get as far away from her as quickly as possible. He wondered how America felt about vacationing in Hawaii, or Brazil, or maybe Antarctica for a while. Honestly he wasn't picky so long as it wasn't on the same continent as Belarus. He knew if his little sister caught him in her house she would just get the wrong idea. And as much as he loved her, he just… didn't want to marry or. Or be in the same room as her.

He slipped one leg through the window, then his torso, and finally stepped into the room completely before closing the window behind him, being careful not to catch his scarf.

"I've tried opening that damn window a million times. How did you do that?" a familiar voice asked in disbelief. It was America. He gave him his usual cheerful smile and shrugged.

"I have missed you," the Russian said happily. "It is good to see that you are… unharmed. We will be leaving quickly now, da?" He beckoned the younger nation forward.

America shook his head. "Sorry, big guy. I know you, um, feel uncomfortable being around your sister (Translation: It must be tough being related to someone creepier than you.) But we've sorta got to save about, uh, thirteen other nations. Plus Prussia."

Russia's facial expression did not change. "Well that is very sad, but I am sure that they will manage somehow."

"Russia," America said sternly. "We're not leaving."

"Do not worry so much. I know that Katyusha will make sure that your little Canada finds his way home."

America was getting agitated. "And what about everyone else? Look, I know you don't want to be here, but do you have any idea what your creepy little sister is up to? She's trying to kill us!" he shouted. "And she's doing it because she's got it in her head that you'd be with her if she did."

A strange expression overcame the Russian. "What do you mean… Kill?" he asked curiously. What sort of silly things were Natalia up to now?

America pointed to the television. Russia followed his finger and saw China and Japan. He could not help but giggle. "What is it… that they are doing, America?" he asked.

"I just told you," America said. "She's gone bat shit crazy." He said, sauntering towards him, never breaking eye contact. America tugged at his scarf, dragging Russia's face down. "She wants to get rid of us all," he whispered, lazily drawing a hand to hook round his neck. Russia smirked and leaned in further, not really caring what the American was saying when they could be- "And then she wants to give you our land as her _dowry_!" He exclaimed, pushing Russia away, eyes narrowed in disgust.

Russia shuddered. "I will not marry her!" he wailed.

"Ugh!" America threw his hands up. "Have you not heard a _single_ thing I've just said? Forget _marriage _for a minute. Belarus wants to take over the fucking _world_! It's a crock idea, but who knows with her! I'm not gonna risk it. And you're gonna help me. You're the only one she'll listen too!"

Russia instantly brightened, an idea that he quite liked forming in his mind.

"Then you must make it worth my time, America." Russia said sweetly, trailing a hand down the blond's cheek.

America scowled and swatted his hand away. "This is not the time to-"

"If I agree to talk Natalia out of this," Russia continued; undaunted, he fit his index fingers through the front belt loops of America's pants, pulling the smaller nation flush against him. "Then you must agree to become one with Russia."

A sinking feeling began to form in America's chest. Had... Had Belarus been right?

* * *

Translations:

Just some generic French; read enough Hetalia fics and I'm sure you know what they mean. :)

**Historical notes that will never help you in class: **Obvious use of the guilt Germany felt about the Holocaust is obvious. November 28th of 1943- The Tehran Conference, a meeting between Churchie, FDR, and Stalin. FDR said some nice things to/about Stalin. I took this and ran with it haha~


	4. Three

**The Game  
**Three

* * *

**6:01 PM, Eastern European Time**

No less than ten minutes ago Prussia, Austria, and Hungary had been led to a plush, well-lit sitting room where a dainty silver serving cart sporting a pot of steaming hot tea and a wide variety of desserts had been placed before a velvet couch. Belarus had led them there all pleasant smiles and small talk and "Please, help yourselves."- a completely different person than when they'd first seen her earlier in the evening.

Prussia couldn't help but snort. This was Belarus's great idea for killing them off- a fucking tea party?

"Maybe she thinks we'll maim each other with the cutlery?" he said aloud as he picked up a little dessert fork and appraised it, as if he really were giving that thought serious consideration. (Which really wasn't too far from the truth. He imagined that it might sting Hungary a bit if he tried to stab her hand with it. Sure she'd beat him for that, but she'd be the one to need a tetanus shot, not him.)

"This is really stupid," he said with a dramatic sigh and unceremoniously threw himself on the couch, not a single thought for manners as he helped himself to a handful of sweets. Austria soon followed suite and couldn't help but eye the little cakes sitting in plain sight, begging to be eaten.

Hungary shook her head. "Belarus is certainly acting stranger than usual," she said. "I don't think she realizes quite what she's doing. I'll have a talk with her when she comes back; she really ought to know better than behave this way," she said off-handedly as she poured Austria a cup of tea. Hungary was sure that some woman-to-woman talk was all the girl needed. And if that didn't work, well, there were always those photos of Russia she had taken at the last World Conference in Japan when she'd accidentally stumbled upon the men's part of the hot spring. And of course if all else failed she could simply beat the shit out of her...

Austria graciously accepted it and after a moment snatched up two cakes as well. "I'm sure she's just trying to give us all a fright," he agreed.

Hungary nodded and began to serve herself, noticing that there was only one cup left. She shrugged. "You're just going to have to do without tea, Prussia," she told him. Prussia shrugged; he could honestly care less. Hungary took a seat next to her boyfriend, causing the other two men to scoot down on the couch to make room for her.

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, each enjoying there refreshments, until Prussia couldn't take the silence any more.

"You must be getting fat, Hungary," Prussia said with a grin. "I feel a little crowded."

"I'm not the one with food dribbling out of my-" Hungary stopped talking, mid-comeback, when she noticed something sitting atop a table she swore hadn't been there a minute ago. "What's that?" she asked, gazing just past Prussia.

Austria frowned and placed his tea cup and plate, both empty, back on the cart. "What is it?" he asked.

She pointed to the table on the other side of Prussia. "There's a letter," she said.

Prussia turned to look and found that a small white envelope marked "Read Me" in beautiful cursive sat there propped up against two small vials. He snatched the letter up and saw that both bottles were labeled as well. They read, in the same delicate handwriting, "Drink Me".

He quirked a brow and, taking a knife from the cart, opened the envelope and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. He began it to himself, wanting to be the first to know what it said:

"_I do tire of chess and charades, don't you? I thought you all might enjoy a different sort of parlor game. But don't worry, it's not difficult to play._

_As I'm sure you've already noticed, I have set out a bottle labeled "Drink Me". Do be careful with it as it contains the antidote I'm sure you'll need. I've heard that the poison I've laced the tea with can have quite the nasty effect. It's just such a pity that I only have enough antidote for one._

_I wonder, Prussia, who are you going to let die?_"

Prussia, never one to show such a stupid emotion as worry or fear, seemed to turn paler than usual. Slowly he brought his gaze up to look at the curious faces of Austria and Hungary.

"What does it say?" Hungary asked impatiently.

For once, Prussia couldn't quite find his voice.

* * *

**7:43 PM, Eastern European Time**

America pushed against the taller nation's chest, not liking where their conversation was going. "Excuse me?" he asked, frowning. That was a dangerous joke to be making- telling him to "become one with Russia". What the fuck was Russia going on about? He thought they'd gotten past this annoying urge he had to collect nations like a small child would rocks and buttons.

Of course he knew that Russia was still interested in some of the former Soviet states- Russia made no move to be secretive about that- but America had thought that he was getting better. He'd thought that the older nation was slowly starting to see the world the way America did, at least in some ways.

"Da, you must agree to become one with Russia, it is only fair. Do not worry, I will take good care of you." Russia giggled and placed a little kiss that could be mistaken for a loving gesture at the tip of his nose. America felt it for what it was though: a false display of affection to conceal the disgusting fact that Russia had not changed at all.

He wasn't going to delude himself. He hadn't expected Russia to help him just because he had asked, just because they slept together. He wasn't dumb enough to think that Russia's feelings for him were any stronger than that of a friend- his certainly weren't.

But he _had _thought that the Russian had more respect for him than that. Had more respect for the _world _than that.

After everything they'd been through- Stalin, all the tension and the threat of another war, all their disagreements... America thought that Russia had actually started to come around, especially after everything with Iran.

And, and dammit he wasn't _communist _anymore! Didn't he know that that had _meant _something to America? That hehad actually started to respect Russia again? (That was a lie. He'd never stopped.)

Had it all just been a ploy to lure him into a false sense of security?

America tried to punch him. "Is that the only reason you-" Russia caught his wrist like it was nothing.

_"_Opportunity cost, my dear America," the Russian growled. "I believe that is one of a capitalist's favorite things. I am correct, da?" A fake smile. "If you will not simply leave with me, and I am to turn down Natalia's-" A poorly concealed shudder. "-generous gift, then it is only fair that you… make it up to me." He drew his arms around the American's waist and slipped his hands into his back pockets, giving his ass an appreciative squeeze. "What do you say, America?" he asked, leering. "We will be quite the force to be reckoned with."

For one horrifying moment America almost said yes. Not because he was weak or because he feared the older, taller nation, nor because he saw no other way out.

No. America almost agreed because behind those words had been the alluring promise of wealth and power. "_We will be quite the force to be reckoned with._"

That phrase couldn't be any truer. Russia's economy was surely doing better than his own, and with Russia on his side he would have nothing to fear from Belarus. But China didn't have to know that. He could force the other nation to pardon his debts and he'd be strong again. No, stronger. And then-

America had begun to sweat. "No," he said quietly. "No I won't. I'm not like that."

He looked up at Russia, eyes only half focused. After a moment his mind cleared and he frowned. "Get out," he said, finally remembering himself and finding his strength. He pushed the Russian off with ease. "Get out," he repeated, voice growing strong.

"America," Russia said. It was obvious by his tone that he was not in the mood to take no for an answer. But before he could say anything more they heard the sound of delicate foot steps outside. Russia paled and tried to shrink into his scarf. "America, please!" he begged, backing towards the window. "Just come with me," he hissed. "I will talk to Belarus later," he said.

America scoffed. The other nations might not think he was the smartest, but he knew a lie when he heard one.

He shook his head no. "I'm not leaving," he said.

Russia growled and leapt out the window, his urge to not be caught by his sister greater than his desire to have America leave with him. "You're a reckless fool," he said, disappearing into the darkness.

America shut the window with more force than necessary. "And you're a selfish coward," he whispered harshly. He should have known better. He should have- he shrugged, trying not to frown. Whatever. It's not as if it really mattered anyways. He didn't need Russia's help. And he supposed it was a blessing in disguise that he'd seen Russia for who and what he really was sooner rather than later.

He supposed that... England had been right. (Why did it seem like he was always, _always _right?)

He turned around to face the door, knowing Belarus would be coming in any second. But the footsteps passed the door and continued down the hallway, disappearing after a few moments.

America took a deep breath and collapsed into a chair.

On the television, Japan and China had yet to move and America sat quietly, gripping his knuckles till they turned white, wondering where everyone else was. The memory of Belarus's voice came back to haunt him.

"_Tick tock, little Alfred, tick tock..._"

* * *

**6:39 PM, Eastern European Time**

Canada held his breath and tried not to give a startled gasp as he steeled himself for the feel of a pointed knife he was sure would be pressed to his neck at any moment. Instead, he was met with something rather soft against his back. Something rather soft and large and-

He gave a little squeak and spun around, coming face to face with a very distraught Ukraine. Canada opened his mouth to speak but she quickly pressed her index finger to his lips, shaking her head no.

"You mustn't be too loud, Canada! Sister does not know that I am here."

Canada nodded. "Thank God you're here!" he whispered with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. "Belarus's gone crazy, eh? She's trying to kill us all!"

Ukraine gave a worried smile and patted his shoulder reassuringly. "Don't fret, little Matvey," she said. "Vanya will be here soon, we spoke on the phone not to long ago."

Canada raised a brow. "No offense or anything, but why would Russia care if a bunch of nations were killed? More land for him, eh?"

Ukraine frowned and tried her best to not cry. "Oh, Vanya would never let that happen! He's trying so hard these days, and you know he would never do anything to upset America."

Canada looked at her skeptically. "Right."

Ukraine couldn't help it; her eyes watered up. "Matvey! How can you say such a thing when you know how long our brothers have been together!"

Canada's eyes widened. "How long they've...?" Is _that_ why America had been so insistent on them trusting the Russian?

Ukraine stopped crying, a wistful expression slowly creeping onto her face. She gave a happy sigh and giggled. "Oh Canada, you remember. All the fighting, the jealousy, the suspicion. It was all a cover up." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "They've probably been in love with each other since the 1800s, come to think of it..."

Canada just stared at her. "Right," he said again. Their brothers sleeping together? He could see it; it wouldn't be the first time any of their kind had had a fling with an enemy. But love? That was more France's and Spain's forte. America... America didn't _do _love. America didn't have t_ime _for love.

Once he and Canada had been watching an American film together. He couldn't quite recall the title, but he had been sure it had been a 1990s Tom Hanks romance-comedy type. Canada had glanced at his brother to make a comment, only to see him smiling quietly to himself and mouthing the words along with the actors.

"Do you think that's what love is like?" Canada had asked the other nation.

America had responded by tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth. "This is just entertainment, Mattie," he'd said as he chewed. "This sort of thing doesn't happen. People don't stay together forever, anyways." He'd taken a few hearty gulps of his soda. "Besides, how boring would _that _be?"

"They're just not very good at communicating with each other," she clarified, drawing the younger country out of his thoughts.

"I think you're mistaken," he said, not unkindly. "America isn't that type. Decades of threats and disagreements and almost going to war, oh, every other day... Yeah. I'd say they're actually pretty good at communicating with each other. About how much they _hate _each other."

Ukraine's lower lip began to tremble again and Canada instantly regretted upsetting her. In an awkward attempt at giving comfort, he placed a hand at her back and began to rub it in small circles. "I'm sorry," he said, looking anywhere but at her and trying his hardest to not stutter. "I didn't mean to upset you." It was just that suggesting that their brothers were anything more than occasion bed mates while they were all attempting to not get killed by her little sister was a bit much.

"They _are _in lo-"

"Ukraine?" A voice called from the doorway. "Sister, is that you?"

It was Canada's turn to clamp a hand over Ukraine's mouth. They both held their breath, praying that Belarus would not come in.

Thankfully, she didn't.

"I suppose she must still be in her room," Belarus said aloud to herself. "I shall go check..." She shut the door behind her and left just as silently as she had come.

"I thought you said she didn't know you were here?" Canada wailed.

"Oh, well," Ukraine looked at him sheepishly. "Oops?"

* * *

**Somewhere along the Belarusian/Latvian Boarder**  
**6:54 PM, Eastern European Time**

Kumajirou wasn't sure how long he'd been walking and in all honesty, he was getting really sleepy and hungry. And the heavy winds and snow that had set in weren't helping one bit. He put the note that his pet (What was his name again?) had given him down on the ground and sat, giving his surroundings a look-around.

To his left... Birch trees and snow. To his right... More Birch trees and snow. Up ahead... A river? Maybe he could catch a fish. He began to pad his way over towards the water and peered in.

He gave a pout; it was practically frozen. It would be easier to find a human and get food from them anyways, and so he set off walking north along the river.

Unfortunately, even after nearly half an hour of walking Kumajirou had yet to come across any signs of civilization. Just how far had he walked? He looked to the sky to get his bearings; he couldn't be too far from Latvia by now, could he?

He should probably look at the address again to see where he wa- Shit.

He'd forgotten to pick it up again before he'd set off. Kumajirou looked behind him and frowned. The wind had gotten even worse, there was no way he'd be able to-

"Gotcha!"

Something small grabbed him from behind and wrapped its arms around his neck in a vice-like grip, the force of the sudden contact sending them both to the ground in a sprawling mess.

Kumajirou growled ad pawed at his back, trying to get the bothersome creature off of him. He stood up on all fours and began to shake himself. "Let go," he grumbled. "Get off."

The annoying thing let go of him with a mildly surprised "Oh!" when he heard him speak and let go. "You're what's-his-face's bear, aren't you?" he asked.

Kumajirou blinked at him in mild annoyance. "Who?" he asked gruffly, not in the mood to be dealing with small children.

The boy puffed his cheeks out and furrowed his thick brows. "What do you mean who?" he asked indignantly. "I'm Sealand!"

Kumajirou just gave him a blank look.

There was a particularly nasty gust of wind and Sealand wrapped his arms around himself, his thick coat still not enough to keep the bitter cold out. His teetch began to chatter and the look he gave Kumajirou after that was particularly less venomous. "A-anyways," he continued. "I was on my way to see L-Latvia and I thought you were following me..."

Kumajirou perked up when he heard the boy mention Latvia's name.

"Latvia?" he asked.

Sealand nodded. Kumajirou looked back in the direction he had come.

"Latvia is in Belarus with many others," he said. "Someone sent me to get help."

Sealand, though his cheeks were red from the cold, seemed to pale. "B-Belarus?" he asked.

Kumajirou nodded. "She wants to do bad things. I need to get help," he said simply.

Suddenly Sealand nodded, as if he had made some earth-shattering decision in his mind. "I'll help!" he shouted, face the perfect example of determination.

Kumajirou gave him a once-over, seemed to consider it, then nodded. "Alright," he said.

Sealand punched his fist in the air and gave a shout, momentarily forgetting that he had been freezing a few moments ago. "Once I save them, they'll _have _to recognize me as a nation!" he exclaimed.

* * *

**8:05 PM, Eastern European Time**

America was sure he'd been sitting in that chair, staring at nothing, for the past hour. He had what- He glanced at his wristwatch- twenty-two hours to go? What the fuck was he going to do? He couldn't just sit there all night. He sighed and put his head back, shifting a bit and-

What was in his back pocket?

Frowning, he sat forward and reached into his pocket and pulled out... A key.

America raised a brow. How long had that been there?

He brought it up to his face to examine it; it was way too old and intricate to be any of his keys... It certainly wasn't the key to his townhouse or his Ford, that was for sure. It seemed more like it was fit for a treasure chest or an old house...

A piece of paper that had been wrapped around the stem of the key began to unravel. America pulled it all the way off and read: "_Just in case I couldn't convince you- R_."

Wide-eyed, America looked towards the entrance to the room. Sure enough, there was a key hole on the inside of the door.

America shook his head but couldn't help but smile.

"You better have a plan, Russia," he whispered to himself as he stood up to leave. "Cause for once, I sure as hell don't."

**A/N:** I can safely say that no, Sealand is not who Canada had in mind. Sorry for the wait. School is finally out but I got a new job and it's a bit more time consuming. Oh, who a I kidding. I typed up half of this on the clock. XD

* * *

Translations:

None, I don't think. :)

**Historical notes that will never help you in class: **Obvious use of the guilt Germany felt about the Holocaust is obvious. November 28th of 1943- The Tehran Conference, a meeting between Churchie, FDR, and Stalin. FDR said some nice things to/about Stalin. I took this and ran with it haha~


	5. Four

**Note:** This story is being rewritten. I didn't have a very solid idea of the plot when I started this, so as I worked it out some thing needed to be changed. Nothing is too different in the past chapters, though I did change France and England's story a bit. The only thing I would recommend is reading the prologue again as the first half of it is all new, has a little more background info, and also a bit of a make-out scene, incase more plot isn't enough incentive. -Laughs- Anyways, that's why this took so long. Thanks for reading!

* * *

**The Game  
**Four

* * *

** 5:43 PM, Eastern European Time**

South Italy was getting sick of Germany acting little a little girl. Honestly, if anything, at least Germany was usually... well, South Italy couldn't think of anything good to say about Germany, but he certainly never expected the blond to behave so uselessly, either. For the past whoever knows how long he'd just been standing there, holding onto the envelope that South Italy had given him, not quiet looking at it or showing any signs of opening it. North Italy was making comforting noises and petting him and fussing over him and doing other things that made South Italy want to throw up or gorge his eyes out or both and he was getting pretty sick of it. Didn't they know that now was neither the time nor the place to be acting all stupid and lovey-dovey?

He tapped his foot impatiently, glaring at the both of them. "Are you planning on reading that anytime today?" he sneered.

North Italy frowned at him. "Ve~ Be nice, Lovino," he said softly. "This is hard for Germany."

South Italy scrunched his face up in disgust at the tears he saw in his little brother's eyes.

"Whatever," he spat. "You know Belarus is just trying to scare us, I don't see what the big deal is."

Unable to wait any longer, South Italy walked towards Germany and his brother and snatched the letter out of the taller man's hand. Germany gave no protest. South Italy tore it open impatiently, pulled out a single sheet of paper, and began to read what it said aloud, voice even and strong:

"I had this gas chamber specially made for you, Germany. It would be a shame not to use it, don't you agree? I know how fond you are of being in control, of playing God, so I'm giving you the chance to relive your glory days. It will be up to you to make the choice: which one will live and which one..." South Italy skimmed ahead and began to shake. His throat seemed to close up rendering it impossible for him to speak. Face drained of all its color, he just stared at the page and blinked.

Suddenly gentle, warm hands were clasping his own; it was his little brother. He found himself leaning into the touch, needing the contact and the reassurance.

"Feliciano," he sobbed, "F-Feli, I..."

North Italy pulled him into a hug, showing him the same comfort he had shown Germany. South Italy clung to him like he was a life line and Feliciano stroked his brother's hair, whispering to him in Italian. "What is it," he asked gently. "What's the matter? It's alright..." Lovino allowed himself to be coddled and Feliciano's heart broke all over again. Lovino must be terribly frightened of Belarus to be showing this much weakness in front of Germany. Had it been any other time he would have chastised his elder brother for picking on Germany when he reacted the same way, but South Italy was so shaken up he couldn't bring himself to. Instead he just held him close, lightly rocking back and forth like their grandfather had done for them years and years ago.

But South Italy wasn't crying because he was frightened of Belarus. He was crying because he knew what the outcome was going to be.

Only two of them were going to be allowed to leave. Only two of them were going to be allowed to leave...

And he knew that he was not going to be one of them.

How could it? He knew that once Germany read the paper he would choose to save North Italy and himself. Of course he would sooner die than let Feliciano come to any harm, but he knew that between the two of them... North Italy loved Germany more, and Germany was just a bastard anyways so he knew he'd only want to save himself... But he supposed that since North Italy loved Germany more, then at least he'd still be happy when all was said and done, right?

Feliciano rubbed a soothing hand up and down Lovino's back, wishing they had never come.

Lovino hugged his brother goodbye.

* * *

**6:15 PM, Eastern European Time**

So he picked on them... had always picked on them and given them a hard time and even tried to break them up when he was bored... And he acted like he hated them, like he was better than them, like he didn't need them and could care less if they lived or died... And was just in general an absolute _pain in the ass_ but how _dare _she? How _dare _she do this?

The air in the room seemed stale, seemed too hot. Prussia found that he couldn't breathe, couldn't think- Couldn't think of anything but what he was going to do to Belarus once he got his hands on her.

Suddenly fueled by anger, it didn't take long for Prussia to find his voice.

"Throw up," he nearly growled. "Throw up right now!"

Austria, taken aback, remained silent.

"What's the matter?" Hungry asked, her usual tone of haughtiness when speaking to the Prussian gone to be replaced by a quiet, frightened whisper.

Prussia grabbed a bit of the fabric of Hungry's dress, twisting it in his fingers. He didn't know why he had the sudden urge to reach out and touch them, to make sure that they were still alive, but he couldn't help it. "You need to... You need to get that tea out of your body," he tried to say as calmly as possible. "You've got to... Both of you... You can't- Just throw up! Don't ask questions, just do it!" Prussia's voice had grown desperately frantic.

Austria frowned. "Prussia, must you always be so dramatic? I'm sure this is just-" Austria shut his mouth and nearly -nearly, mind you- softened at the look he received from the red eyed ex-nation at that remark. Because the face he was looking at was not the face of Prussia- his obnoxious, pompous, neighbor- that he was used to.

"Yes," Prussia nearly choked. "Yes I do have to be dramatic when those I care about are being harmed."

Austria sucked it a sharp breath and shared a worried glance with Hungry. If Prussia was behaving this soberly then it was call to pay attention. Hungry looked back at Prussia and, remembering the annoying little nation she had fought side by side with in their younger days, lightly grasped his hand. "What has Belarus done?" she asked calmly.

"Poison," Prussia answered simply, faintly. "You've been poisoned."

* * *

**8:11 PM, Eastern European Time**

America gently shut the door behind him, trying his best to remain as quiet as he could but the rusted hinges rendered that impossible. He held his breath and clenched his eyes shut tightly, certain that Belarus had heard him escape and would be coming for him any minute. But as the seconds drug by he heard no tell-tale humming nor the click of her shoes against the stone floor. He grinned; it looked at if Belarus wasn't at the top of her game.

He gave the hallway a look around. The only thing America recognized was the front door, something that would definitely be very helpful in the future. But at the moment his priority was to find the other nations. Which was a great plan and all, except for the fact that he had absolutely no idea where the other nations were. He squared his shoulders and began to make his way down the hall, determined to not let any negative thoughts get him down. Russia had given him a key. Russia would help him out, he knew he would. And besides, even if he didn't, who cares? America always saved the day. This little get together gone wrong would be no differnt.

He passed shadowed corners and antiquated suits of armor and paintings of baby Jesus that seemed to follow him with their eyes and couldn't help but shudder. He frowned. This was why he didn't like museums- they were boring and stuffy and old and creepy as _hell_.

America shook his head- he didn't have time to worry about that right now. Right now he had to concentrate on finding the others. It wouldn't be long before Belarus noticed that he was missing and he didn't want to know what sort of things she'd do once she found out. Mostly out of habit he reached for his cell phone again, scowling when he remembered that it wouldn't do him any good. He would _kill _to be able to text his brother or his president or Russia or England or-

_England._

The fear that America had been trying to keep at bay clenched its fist tightly around his stomach once more. He and France had been taken away first. The only ones he knew anything about were Japan and China. What was happening to England and France? Had she given them an ultimatum as well? America hoped that for once they would be able to put their differences aside and work together but America knew that England had too much pride for that, not that he had any room to talk. America would be a bold-faced hypocrite if he faulted the former Empire for that.

Which was why he had to find him. Find England and France, pray that they hadn't offed each other already (or worse) and get everyone out there. Not that he would ever tell a soul but here, faced with this -too himself at least- he could admit it. To him England was more that just another nation. England was his brother, his father-figure, his best friend and his rock. Heaven help Belarus if she so much as laid one finger on his head. She already had hell to pay. America hoped for her sake that she hadn't done anything to make it even worse because America didn't think that he'd be able to refrain from-

He had to calm down. He had to breathe. America was a hero. He didn't need to waste his time getting angry and plotting revenge. He wasn't going to need revenge. He was going to do the right thing. He was going to exact justice. He was going to-

America heard a scream.

It was faint, dulled by the distance and the heavy flooring and walls, but it was a scream nonetheless. And it had come from somewhere below him.

He grabbed the knob to the first door he came across. It creaked and protested, but after a few turns gave in and the door opened. Through the dim, flickering glow (America had no idea where the light was coming from.) he could see that this doorway led to a basement.

America gulped.

Basements were usually dark and damp and moldy and full of ghosts. And in Belarus's house, that probably meant creepier ghosts than usual.

Well whatever. America was definitely not going to waste his time being afraid of ghosts. He steeled himself, nodded his head, and opened his cell phone to use it as a makeshift flashlight. He took a step, only to be grabbed from behind, a rag forced over his mouth.

America knew the scent instantly- it was chloroform. He held his breath and tried to fight off his captor, clutching at the heavy fabric of his arms, trying to find skin to sink his nails into, trying to beat at him with his fists, trying to kick and buck and twist away. But after a few moments of struggling his lungs began to scream for air. Feeling lightheaded already, he took a few shallow breaths.

"This is for your own good, da?" a voice whispered into his ear, though it seemed miles away.

America should have known Russia would do something like that- pretend to be on his side and then completely turn it around. It was just a pity he hadn't thought of it sooner.

* * *

**7:12 PM, Eastern European Time**

Canada and Ukraine waited a few minutes after Belarus left before heading out into the hallway once more. Canada, though no chicken, wasn't exactly in his comfort zone, so he reached for her hand out of reflex. He gasped a little when their fingers brushed and almost tangled together, but pulled back, thinking it inappropriate. Ukraine had other ideas. She gently reached for his hand again and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"Don't worry," she said quietly, her head ducked timidly. "Let's go to the West Wing so I can call Vanya. Belarus never uses that part of the house."

Canada shook his head, then realizing she couldn't see him, tugged her hand towards the front entrance. "Let's go get America first," he said. "It's not like he'll be much help," (If any of his crock ideas were an indication) "but I'll feel much better once we know he's ok..."

Ukraine agreed and Canada walked up to the door of the room they'd all been in at first and knocked quietly. "Pst, Al, it's me," he said. After a moment of silence, he sighed. "It's Canada, your brother," he clarified.

Still no answer.

Trying not to panic he reached for the knob. "Do you have a key?" he asked Ukraine. But before she answered, Canada was surprised to see the door push open of its own accord. Hadn't Belarus locked it?

"Al?" he called again. "America?"

He poked his head in the door and was met with an utterly empty room.

"Oh god," Canada said. "Oh God she's already got him and-"

Ukraine began to stroke his back and made comforting noises. "I'll call Vanya. I'm sure they're together; I'm sure Little America is alright, I'm sure he is..."

Cananda took a shaky breath. Ukraine might have faith, but he wasn't so sure...

* * *

**Tokyo Narita International Airport**  
**January 25th**  
**10:02 PM, Japan Standard Time**

Turkey stood outside the airport waiting to hail a taxi. It seemed to be just as cold here as it was back in Istanbul and he was glad that he'd thought to bring an extra coat. shivering a little, he readjusted the strap of the bag across his shoulder and checked his cellphone again. He frowned, wondering why Japan had missed all of his calls and had yet to get back to him. He had gotten off the plane close to an hour ago and Japan had told him that he would meet him at the airport... So where the hell was he? It was so unlike the polite, adorable nation to behave this way and he was beginning to worry.

He hadn't gotten the time wrong, had he? Turkey checked his wrist watch; it was four o'clock in the afternoon back home and there was a six hour difference... No, he'd gotten the right time. His frown only deepened. It wasn't like Japan to be late, so that could only mean one thing... Greece was up to something.

He growled and punched in the Greek's number (he refused to add him to his contact list, but for some reason he knew the number by heart) and began to tap his foot impatiently. A taxi pulled up but he waved it away, stepping back inside the warmth of the building.

"Come on ya damn kid," he muttered. "Answer yer phone..."

After a few rings, he was met with a sleepy, soft-spoken voice. "This is Greece-"

Turkey exploded. "WHAT THE HELL'VE YOU DONE WITH JAPAN YOU ASSHOLE-"

"-Sorry I missed your call," yawn, "but I will try to get back to you as soon as possible."

Turkey's eye twitched and he flushed, feeling a little silly for having yelled at his voicemail.

He huffed, decided not to leave a message, and stuffed his phone back in his pocket. What was it with people and not answering their phones?

Not two seconds later, the familiar sound of a catchy Tarkan song was singing to him from his pocket. He fished it out and looked at the number; Greece was calling him back. Turkey narrowed his eyes; he was probably calling to gloat about having stolen Japan.

"What have you done with Japan?" they both said at the same time, Turkey nearly shouting and Greece simultaneously sounding annoyed and on the verge of falling asleep.

There was a very confused, awkward pause, then, "I haven't done anything with him!" they both said.

Another pause. Turkey was the first to recover. "Quit lyin' and tell me where ya put him! He was supposed to meet me at the airport and he's not here!"

Greece was silent for a few more seconds and for a moment Turkey thought that he had hung up on him. Turkey balled his fists up in rage, almost ready to throw his phone at the wall. Finally, Greece said, "Ah."

Forget the phone. Turkey wanted to smack his _head_ against the wall. Or Greece's. Yeah, probably Greece's. "Ah?" he reiterated through clenched teeth. "Stop playin' dumb, kid. It's not cute. Where is Japan?"

"I don't know where he is either," Greece snarled quietly. "That's why I called you, μαλάκας."

"...You serious?" he asked.

"Mmm."

Turkey took a seat, more than a little shocked. If Japan wasn't answering his calls, and he hadn't been stolen by the little Greek bastard, and Greece didn't know where he was either, then where the hell was he? His frown turned into a down right scowl. He sighed, rubbing at his masked temples. "Where are ya?" he finally asked.

"Tokyo Narita International Airport," Greece said.

Turkey sighed again. Great, he was in Japan as well? Greece had probably beat the information out of the Asian nation about the two of them hanging out and had decided to tag along and bug the hell out of them. He couldn't think of any other reason for Greece coming. It wasn't as if Japan really liked him or anything.

Turkey was probably going to hate himself later for saying this, but at the moment he couldn't think of a better idea. If Japan really was missing, then the more people looking for him the better.

"Be more specific," he finally said. "And don't go anywhere. I'm gonna find ya and we're gonna look for him. And if you're lyin', I'm gonna beat the shit outta ya."

* * *

Translations:

μαλάκας - malakas (It pretty much means wanker but I like this insult because friends also call each other this. I like to think of it as a term of endearment. lol)

**Random: **Tarkan is a Turkish singer; listen to his music, it's great! I recommend Sikidim and Kiss Kiss to start of with. And if you want some Greek music I've been listening to Sakis Rouvas on repeat all day. :)


	6. Five

**The Game  
Five**

**

* * *

7:18 PM, Eastern European Time**

Ukraine led Canada up a flight of stairs. They had both agreed that using a flashlight would be risky and so they felt their way up blindly. Ukraine seemed confident in her ability to lead but Canada, even with his hand clasped tightly in hers, felt completely lost. He lost his footing a few times, falling into her back and startling the both of them. Each time they'd gasp, then realizing that Belarus might have over heard them, stood still for a moment, waiting for the tell-tale signs of her light foot steps, but she never came.

After what seemed like years they reached the top step. Ukraine felt her way along the walls and finally reached the room she'd been looking for. She came to a sudden stop and Canada squeezed her hand so tightly he was sure their knuckles had turned white.

"We're here," Ukraine whispered. "I'm sure that Sister will not find us."

She let go of his hand. Canada could hear her opening and closing a drawer and a moment later the room was enveloped in the soft, flickering glow of a candle. They were in a bedroom, perhaps a guest bedroom, and it was kept simple but comfortable, with a plush bed, a few cushioned chairs, and a writing desk.

Canada was too preoccupied to notice how stale the air smelled or the thick layer of dust that covered everything like a second layer of skin. The room had not been used in over a decade.

"You've got to know where they are, Ukraine," Canada said suddenly, quietly, looking at her with a frown. "You've got to know where Belarus has taken everyone."

Ukraine picked the candle up and walked towards the window. Her hand shook badly. "I wish I did," she whispered. "But Natalia is very secretive." She began to worry her lip. "I'm sorry, Matvey, truly I am." Canada shok his head. "No, no, it's alright. I'm sorry."

Ukraine sat down by the window and pulled out her cellphone. Luckily she had a signal, though it was very faint. "I will call Vanya," she said.

There was silence for a moment and Ukraine began to worry at her lip again until her brother picked up. "Hello little brother," she said. "I'm very sorry to bother you, I- I know as nations that you and I, um," she began to tear up and took a deep breath to calm her nerves and started over. "I was wondering if you knew where America is?"

Russia spoke and Ukraine smiled and visibly relaxed. "Oh, Vanya, that is wonderful! I am so glad to hear that!" She held the receiver away and mouthed to Canada, "Your brother is safe!"

Canada smiled, glad to hear it. "What about the others?" he asked. "Is he going to help?"

Ukraine looked down. "We don't have to bother him about that," she said. "I'm sure we can talk to Sister..."

Anyone who knew, or rather, anyone who could be bothered to _remember_ who Canada was, knew that he was very soft spoken and peaceful. But there was a time and a place for everything, and the majority of the world's most powerful nations being held hostage was no time to sit back and be passive. Canada wanted answers, wanted _action, _and he wanted it now.

He snatched the phone from Ukraine's hand. "Russia," he tried to say commandingly, though it came out as little more then a breath of air. He tried again, this time with more force behind his voice. "Russia, we need your help."

"Hello little Canada. Ukraine has told you that America is safe and sound, da?"

"Yes," he said. "Thank you. But the thing is, the rest of us are stuck here, and you're the only one who Belarus will listen to."

Russia giggled. "That is what you would call a personal problem, is it not?"

Canada narrowed his eyes. "Put America on the phone."

Russia's giggle turned into a laugh. "Hmm, I'm afraid I can't do that little Matvey," he said, "America isn't quite himself at the moment!"

"What are you talking about?" Canada nearly shouted. "Let me speak with him, put him on the phone!"

It took Canada about ten seconds to realize that Russia had hung up on him. With a growl, he redialed his number.

"_I'm sorry, but the person you are trying to reach is currently unavailable..._"

* * *

**Russia's Manor**  
**Moscow, Russia**  
**January 26th**  
**12:10 AM, Moscow Time**

America thought that he might like to sit up, maybe eat a snack and watch some television, or possibly do the mature thing and get ready to head to the office, but he felt as if his entire body was being weighed down by thousands of tiny invisible sandbags. This struck him as a little unusual, but didn't seem to be cause for panic or suspicion. He merely frowned a bit (at least he thought he was frowning. He wasn't quite sure if he could feel his face or not. Maybe he just thought he could? It didn't seem to matter though.) He tried to move his fingers, and finally after a few moments of concentration they obeyed him but-

Why were they above his head? That was just silly. America didn't sleep with his hands over his head. He tried to bring his hands down by his sides but they didn't seem to want to budge. America was very perplexed by this. He tried to open his eyes and tilt his head back, but it felt as if his skull had been replaced by a ten ton bowling ball. It was just too much work to move.

The more he thought about it, the stranger the situation seemed to get. Why couldn't he move? Distant curiosity lead to distinct frustration, and after a few more moments of attempted movement, the most he had been able to accomplish was stretching out his fingers.

He sighed, unable to form any words or even an agitated growl, and tried to open his eyes once more. Finally they did, but the moment they opened he regretted it. The light, though it just came from the bedside table, gave him a pounding headache. He clenched his eyes tight again.

Sleep began to tug at his mind once more. Perhaps he'd go to work later, he thought. Someone was bound to come get him if he was really needed...

Someone giggled.

"You are awake now, da?"

America tried to say something but his mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. Though his mind felt foggy, he'd recognize that sound anywhere. It was Russia; it had to be. But what the hell was he doing in DC right now?

He felt cool fingers on his forehead gently move sweaty bangs from his face and all questions vanished from his mind as he tried to lean into the soothing touch. He heard another giggle.

Russia trailed his hand down America's feverish flesh, a pleasant smile playing at his lips. America was so lovely and complacent right now; he was tempted to keep him this way forever.

"What's wrong with me?" America finally managed to ask after a few moments, though his words were garbled and slurred together.

"Nothing is wrong," Russia crooned, petting America's face and neck and chest. "You're fine," he said. "You're safe."

He frowned; America was waking up far faster than he thought he would and he was sure that once he fully came to his senses and remembered everything that he would be... less than happy. Russia sighed. If only America could see things from his point of view he would understand. It wasn't as if he _wanted _to hold the younger nation against his will, it was just that if he didn't then he was sure that America would do something rash. Like try to confront his sister.

Russia shuddered at the thought. As much as America felt that he could always save the day... He had never gone against his sister, not on a personal level. Natalia was more than a force to be reckoned with and Russia was not going to allow America to risk his life for something so trivial as playing hero.

America began to stir and started to tug at his arm restraints. He was coming to faster than Russia had expected; he would need to be drugged again soon. He contemplated putting him on an IV drip, but the initial dose had lasted well over two hours. (He'd waited to see how long it would last. It wasn't as if he was stalling the inevitable or anything.) That was plenty of time to go back to his sister's, talk some sense into her, and hopefully get her to release the other nations. Though he didn't want to, he'd try to save the others just to keep America from complaining. But if he couldn't, well, he knew Ukraine would be fine, and Canada as well, and he already had what he wanted...

But to have to talk to Belarus...

Russia clutched at his scarf. Thinking of the prospect of facing her was nearly enough to send him into a fit of tears. Why must his sibling be so frightening?

"Why the fuck am I tied up?" America suddenly howled, eyes wild and very much aware. Russia, unexpectedly pulled from his thoughts, blinked in surprise. Though he should have known that America would have recovered quickly once he'd begun to wake up. He was such a resilient, persistent thing.

Russia smiled, hoping it would calm down the agitated nation. "I'm saving you from yourself, дорогой," he said simply.

America tried to stand, tugging at his wrists with such force Russia knew he would rip the headboard off. He tossed a leg over America's lap and straddled him, gripped the blond by the arms. "Calm down," he said softly, sweetly. "This is for your own good."

"The hell it is!" America spat. "Get the fuck off me!"

"I can't do that," Russia whispered, looking down at America's face fondly. He gripped both of America's wrists in one hand and used his other to stroke his face again. He cupped his cheek, sighing happily. "You'll be safe here."

America just stared at him, horrified. "Why... why are you doing this to me?" he whispered.

"Потому что я люблю тебя," he said, leaning forward to kiss him on the lips. "Я не могу позволить тебе уйти."

Russia flicked his tongue along America's bottom lip. America tried to bite it but Russia was too quick. Russia leaned back and giggled; he liked it when America fought back.

"You know I don't speak your fuckin' communist language," America snarled. "Get off me."

"Calm down, America," Russia crooned, scooting down a bit to rest his hands on the blond's belt buckle. "I will take care of the other nations," he said with a deceitfully innocent face, "just as soon as I take care of _you._"

"Don't you dare think you can jus-ah!"

Russia had quickly unbuckled America's trousers and tugged them down, but only as much as necessary. America flushed with embarrassment at how quickly he responded to Russia's hand, how easily he had been overcome. In the back of his mind, he swore he'd make Russia pay for this.

He turned his face away, ashamed, but could not help but moan and lean in to the greedy touch.

A few moments later he came. Afterwards he lay there, panting and glossy eyed; the release mixed with what little of the drug that lingered in his system had made him calmer, but he could still feel the anger boiling beneath the surface of his skin. "Now what are you going to do?" he snapped after he'd caught his breath, trying to pretend that that hadn't just happened. He gave another tug at his restraints, but with only half as much verve as before as he was exhausted. "Let me go," he demanded again.

Russia ignored him. He reached over to the nightstand and picked up a small unlabeled vial and a clean syringe.

"I'm talking to you," America said, growing angry once more. Just what the hell was Russia up to now? He bucked his hips, trying to get the Russian off his legs but the larger man would not budge.

Russia lowered the plunger into the barrel of the syringe, mindful of the measurements, then uncapped the needle and stuck it into the bottle and pulled the plunger up until it was full of a clear liquid.

"Russia," America said, beginning to panic. "Russia, come on, wh-what are you doing?" If there was one thing he was afraid of (other than ghosts) it was needles.

Russia set the vial down and picked up a little packet of sanitized wipes. He ripped it open with his teeth and grabbed America's left arm. With the same hand he was holding the syringe, he cleaned the crook of the American's elbow. He slowly pressed the plunger down, expelling any air that might be in the barrel, then brought it to America's elbow.

"Sweet dreams, дорогой."

* * *

**Krasnoselskiy, Belarus  
January 25th  
7:24 PM, Eastern European Time**

Spain would definitely have to hug North Italy as soon as he and the others got back from Belarus's house; coming for a surprise visit to see his cute little Romano had been a great idea!

He threw himself on the bed of his hotel suite and folded his arms behind his head, grinning like a fool. Spain couldn't wait to see the look on Romano's face when his former charge saw that he had tagged along.

Like most of the other nations, Spain had received an invitation to attend Belarus's little gathering, but once Romano had found out that he'd received one the Italian had thrown a very uncute temper tantrum, saying that it wasn't mandatory and that Spain should just stay home and, as Romano put it, "stay the hell away from me!" Spain had of course agreed to not go (he didn't want Romano to be upset) and had politely declined Belarus's invitation, stating that he had prior engagements.

Obviously that had been a lie; it wasn't as if he couldn't get away for a few days, but he'd promised Romano that he wouldn't go to her house. He _hadn't_, of course, promised that he wouldn't enter the country, and so here he was, waiting at the hotel for their return.

He closed his eyes, thinking of things that the two of them could do once they Returned from Belarus's manor. Romano would most likely be hungry and there was a lovely restaurant downstairs with live entertainment, and afterwards they could order room service and enjoy some of the hotels other accommodations, like the bath-tub jacuzzi for two and the king sized bed...

Spain didn't think he could wait much longer. He glanced at the bedside clock; it was half past seven and he was sure that their meeting with Belarus should have been over by now. It wasn't as if it was for any political reasons; the invitation had been on a purely social basis. How long did they need to make small talk over tea?

He frowned. Italy had promised to text him as soon as they arrived at the hotel. Perhaps he'd forgotten? He got up to knock on the door to Germany and Italy's room, but there was no answer.

He sighed and went back to his room and eyed the phone for a good many minutes before giving in and calling the front desk.

"How may I help you?" came a friendly voice, surprisingly in English.

"I was just wondering if my friends had checked in yet, probably under the name Beilschmidt or Vargas?"

"Just a moment, let me check."

"Alright, thank you."

There was silence for a moment, then, "No, I'm sorry, they haven't arrived yet."

"That's alright, thanks again."

Spain placed the phone back in the cradle and sighed. With a lack of anything better to do, he turned on the television and began to flip through the channels, but always made sure to keep one eye on the time.

Finally, another hour passed without any sign of the others and Spain was beginning to worry. The weather outside wasn't exactly agreeable, what if they'd gotten lost on their way to the hotel or driven into a ditch or something?

The thought of his two adorable little Italian's in peril was more than enough to have him flying for the phone to call the front desk once more.

"Hello, how may I help you?"

"Yes, I'd like to rent a car..."

* * *

**6:30 PM, Eastern European Time**

After England had beaten France (or, as England had put it, the sex offender) off he'd made a mad dash for the two boxes Belarus had mentioned in her note. He'd hastily tore tore the lids of and, just as she'd promised, one contained a single bullet and the other an antique .32 revolver. It was a beauty, looking similar to something England had carried in his pirating days with its ornate engravings and its pearl grip.

He picked it up and opened the cylinder with little difficulty, but hesitated to insert the bullet.

England had always imagined he'd rather enjoy sending a bullet through France's head, but he knew that now was neither the time nor the place. Though killing Francis would probably be a very gratifying experience, he knew that that was what Belarus wanted. She'd pitted them against each other in hopes that they'd tear themselves apart. But England didn't have time for her games; they needed to get out of there as quickly as possible and get to the others.

Fear gripped at his gut as he thought of America. God knew the lad tried his best, but left to his own devises... England shuddered as he thought of the many different ways that America would probably attempt to be the hero, none of which could end well.

But how would they get out? England didn't doubt that the two of them were under surveillance. So how would they-

"_Mon Dieu, Angleterre! _If you're not going to then give it to me." France quickly snatched the pistol from his hands and grabbed the bullet. Without looking at what he was doing, he dropped the bullet into the open cylinder and closed it, lining it up perfectly with the barrel.

"What do you think you're doing?" England demanded.

"Relax, _rosbif_, I am simply going to-"

Before France could finish his thought England had grabbed for the handgun, but France would not let go.

"Hand it over, frog!" he snarled. "You don't know what you're-"

"Calm down! I'm just going to-_aie!_"

England grabbed a fist-full of France's hair and pushed him against the wall, dangerously close to crushing the Frenchman's spinal cord with his knee. France was trying his best to explain but it was difficult to breathe (never mind speak) when he had his face pressed rather painfully into the wall.

"Let. Go," England said, voice dripping with the threat of more pain. "I won't ask again."

He dug his knee in harder. What the bloody hell did France think he was doing? He cursed himself for thinking that the frog had more honor than to give into Belarus. He almost snorted; he should have known better than to trust him.

They struggled for a moment longer, England refusing to release his grip on France's hand. France tried to twist to the side, his arm flailing a bit, and suddenly there was a gunshot.

France had fired the bullet.

Blinking in surprise, England instantly released his hold on the blond and took a step back. France turned to face him and grabbed him by the shoulders, face wrought with worry. "Oh, _Dieu, mon cher, _you're not hurt are yo..." Something caught France's eye, and his voice trailed off to be replaced with a grin.

England furrowed his brows. "What?"

France laughed and pointed to the door. "I am quite the shot, _non_?" he asked. "I was able to hit it, even with you making a nuisance of yourself."

England turned to look; in their scuffle France had somehow managed to shoot the lock off the door.

"Don't be so full of yourself," he huffed, though he couldn't help the felling of relief that washed over. "It was a lucky shot and I was going to do the same."

France draped an arm over his shoulder and nuzzled his cheek. "Ah, but don't I still deserve a reward for my success?"

"No." England shoved him off. "Come on, then. No doubt she's watching; we've got to hurry and find the others."

They both looked to the door, then shared a glance. France grinned. "By all means," he said in response to England's silent suggestion.

"It's time to show that bitch just who she's fucking with," England said and, in true British Empire style, kicked the door down.

* * *

**8:07 PM Eastern European Time**

"Brother will be here soon," Belarus said. "And when Brother gets here, he will know just what to do with you three."

She spun on her heel to face the three nations she'd chained to the wall, a blank expression on her face. "Are you excited to see my dear Vanya?" she asked.

They remained silent.

Belarus gave a mock sigh. "You never did appreciate all the love and attention you received from my dearest brother," she said to the first two. "And you," she glanced at the last, "you little disrespectful**-****"**

"M-Miss Belarus, please don't..."

Belarus turned to face the nation in the middle, the one who had dared speak up against her.

"Shut up, Lithuania," she spat. "You're lucky I'm waiting for Brother to get here or I would slice the skin off your face." She smiled at the thought and drew her favorite knife from the pocket of her apron. She brought it up to his face and lightly trailed the tip of it from his forehead down to his belly. "Or perhaps," she said, musing aloud to herself, "perhaps I should just split you open like the pig you are. You and your Polish _блядзь_."

"You're like, so not going to get away with this," Poland seethed.

Belarus looked at Poland, then backhanded Lithuania across the face. Latvia, who had been trying to be as quiet as possible, let out a sob.

"L-Liet," Poland said. "Are you, like, ok? Don't let he-"

"Be _quiet_!" she howled. "You don't understand, do you? None of you understand! You," she said, looking to Lithuania and Latvia. "You don't know how _good _you had it. Even though he loved you both all you wanted was to leave him! Brother will be so pleased to see that I have brought you both here so that he can punish you. It's a pity Estonia couldn't make it, but I'll deal with him later."

She began to pace, muttering to herself. "Brother will see that I have done all of this for him. He will be so happy. He won't love any of you anymore; he'll only love me. And he'll want to get rid of you all just like I am getting rid of the others, especially that little bitch America. Brother will only want me now. He'll only love me. He'll see. He'll see that I have given him the world, just like he's always wanted. And then we'll get married!" Belarus was smiling, breathless and rosy cheeked.

"Miss Belarus," Lithuania said quietly. "Please, I don't want you to get in trouble."

Belarus seemed to snap out of her thoughts and turned to look at her prisoners once more. "You don't know what you're talking about, Lithuania," she spat.

Suddenly a sound came from the top of the stairwell. Belarus smiled pleasantly. "That must be Brother!" she exclaimed happily and ran up the stairs.

As soon as she'd left, Latvia let out a shaky breath and began to sob.

"Don't cry Latvia," Lithuania said. "It'll be ok."

"That bitch is like _so _asking for it," Poland said. He turned to look at brunette. The lighting was poor but he could still tell that his cheek was reddened and possibly bruised. "You, like, ok, Liet?" he asked quietly.

Lithuania nodded. He wasn't frightened. He knew that America would pull through for them all in the end, no matter what Belarus said.

* * *

Translations:

Потому что я люблю тебя. Я не могу позволить тебе уйти- Because I love you, I can't let you leave. (As always, thanks ever so much **Jileine**!)

дорогой- Darling

блядзь- Slut, whore

**A/N: **Wow. So I was in Canada for a lot longer than planned, but I am seriously in love with Matthew now, let me tell you. :) Anyways, better late then never?


End file.
